I double check the room number at a hotel in Waikiki - I imagine it's a minor breach of etiquette if you transpose numbers, and ask the * wrong * straight guy if they're still curious about touching your cock. Not that this specific scenario gets a lot of words in those antique etiquette books - they do tend to bury the lede and natter on about arcane stuff like which fork is used for salad at a black tie function. Like that's even remotely useful in real life.
Oh. Right. Knock.
The guy who answers the door is surfer bleached blond with green eyes, and wearing faux Hawaiian beach shorts and a moderately loud aloha shirt that no local would be caught dead in. Like, straight out of the first ABC store he ran across in Waikiki. But, he's almost as tall as me, with a slim muscular build, and the sun is glinting off the blond hairs on his tanned arms, so the clothes look good on him, almost like he's dressing ironically.
"Are you... umm," I say. "You know?"
"From the... ad?"
"Yeah."
"Well, c'mon in."
It's a standard mid-range room, nice but not extravagant, view of the Ala Wai canal. Has a tropical bed spread that looks super clean, but you'd probably not want to view with a black light if you're squeamish about random cum stains left by a plethora of strangers. No amount of washing is ever going to get every last molecule out, though that is curiously omitted from every tourist brochure, ever.
He has a laptop open with straight porn playing, a compilation of women giving hand jobs, fairly suggestive given the ad he placed. I wave at the computer. "So, that's what you wanna try? You were a little vague in your ad."
"Well, not exactly. I just want to feel what my wife experiences when she touches my cock, feels it stiffen. Not, you know, stroke it or anything like that."
I shrug. "Sure. I get it. I'm married, too. So... how do you want to start?"
"You want to see pictures of my wife?"
I nod.
He taps a few keys, and a montage of nude pictures of his wife in suggestive poses starts playing. She's good looking, athletic, auburn hair, curvy in the best way. D cup and a phat booty.
"Mmm," I say. "Day-yam. You're a lucky guy."
"Be luckier if she'd let me fuck her more often." As we're talking, he edges closer and closer, watching my eyes to see if that... intimacy... is OK.
"What's the problem?"
"Says she wants me to be more seductive and romantic. I try, but... fuck. I don't know how to fucking please her."
By now he's maybe four inches shy of me, and glances down at the slight bulge in my shorts. "Is it OK if... you know..." he says, his voice soft.
I take a baby step toward him, so we're maybe an inch apart, close enough to see the gold flecks in his green irises. I lean in, my lips brushing against his ear, feeling the reflected heat of my breath, and murmur, "I'll show you how to seduce her. Pretend you're her."
A long pause. "OK," he whispers.
I slowly kiss his earlobe. "Run your finger along my zipper."
He obeys. I feel myself getting harder.
"Now ask if you can unzip it."
"Can I?"
I wait. Finally, "Say please."
"Please, can I unzip it?"
"Yes. Slowly. Yeah, like that. Mmm. Do you want to touch it?"
"Yes? I mean, yes!"
I wait.
"Please, can I touch it?"
"Yes. Yes, you can. Reach inside. Brush your fingers there, like you did to my zipper... but on the outside of my underwear. Don't rush. Aaaah. Yes. Do you like touching me, baby?'